


Take Me to the Space Station

by LumiOlivier



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Cute, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23538799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumiOlivier/pseuds/LumiOlivier
Summary: It's been almost five years since MC and Seven first met.  And shortly after, they start dating.  But MC is ready to take the next step.  Why hasn't Seven even moved?
Relationships: 707 | Choi Luciel/Main Character
Comments: 8
Kudos: 104





	Take Me to the Space Station

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrieallaLuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrieallaLuna/gifts).



> I hope I did you proud, Briealla.

All it took was eleven days…Eleven days and I fell in love. But honestly, after a look at that face, no one could possibly say no. It’s impossible. I’d know. I tried. But then again, he tried pushing me away, too. Could what happened be considered Stockholm syndrome? In a way, he did have me captive. And we would communicate occasionally. But he never ever brought me any sort of harm. Physically speaking anyway. He’d exhaust me mentally, but that was just part of his charm. He keeps me on my toes. And I think I’ll keep him around. Just for a little while.

Those eleven days got me the next four years of my life. I wake up to his stupid face (and possibly his drool on me, depending on our spoon position from the night before). I go to bed in the coolest car bed anyone could ever hope for (Although, when I moved in with him, I did make a bid for getting a grown up bed. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t met with resistance. But what the hell? It’s a car bed! Who could say no to that?). We make breakfast together (or I make breakfast and he watches. We don’t allow him near the stove anymore. Almost burning down the house once with something that only required boiling was plenty. And the blender incident…We don’t talk about the blender incident.). There’s no one else I’d rather be with on a day to day basis.

But one thing bothers me. And it’s been bothering me for the longest time. Probably around the year two mark. I’ve never clicked so well with another human being than him. It’s obvious that he’s the same way. When I don’t get birthday presents from him, but birthday vacations and how he doesn’t make fun of me when I burst into tears during chick flicks (because nine times out of ten, I have to be the one consoling him), that’s love. If that’s the case…Then, why hasn’t he proposed yet? 

It’s not like we haven’t talked about it. But when we do talk about it, it’s almost as if it goes in one ear and out the other. He’ll talk it up and blow it entirely out of proportion (Fireworks. He’s suggested fireworks.) and never take it seriously. Then again, part of his charm. It’d be nice if we’d at least talk about it with some seriousness. I don’t care how he does it. I just want to see that ring in the box and that boy down on his knee. Am I asking for too much? I don’t think I’m asking for too much. I needed to vent. And there was only one other person in our house that I could vent to. Even though it’s likely going to go in one ear and out the other. But I didn’t care. He was my diary on legs and the only person that could provide the outsider’s perspective on this. Mostly because they shared DNA. And a face. And a birthday.

“Saeran,” I threw myself dramatically on his bed, “I need a friend.”

“Don’t you have Saeyoung for that?” Saeran tried to subtly nudge me off the edge, but he wasn’t getting rid of me that easily. But I laid my head on his shoulder and he was butter, “It is about Saeyoung, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, “I’ve been getting in my head a lot lately. I don’t know if it’s because our anniversary is coming up or what, but…”

“Alright,” he put his Switch down, “What’s going on? What’s bothering you so much? And what’s the fastest way we can fix whatever’s broken, so I can go back to my game?”

“Is it weird of me to already want us to get married?” I asked.

Saeran froze completely. Like…He may be a blue screen right now. Should I reboot him? Would that be like having to have him rebirthed? Because I have a feeling I wouldn’t be able to do that. But in an act of God, Saeran came to again, “You’re wanting to get married?”

“Yeah.”

He looked at me strange like I had something on my face. But I knew better than that, “To Saeyoung?”

“No, Saeran,” I rolled my eyes, “To the first wandering drifter that crosses my path. Of course. Who else would I want to marry, if not my boyfriend of the last almost five years?”

“Clooney?”

He had me there, “Yeah…But I mean in a serious sense. Besides, Clooney’s old enough to be my dad and I don’t think we’re going to work.”

“Damn,” Saeran snapped his fingers, “Looks like I get you as a sister-in-law instead.”

“But that’s the thing,” I pointed out, “Seven hasn’t asked me. And it’s starting to feel like he never will.”

“You’re rushing things, MC,” he settled me, “Or you’re overthinking it. Saeyoung’s a fragile creature.”

“I know.”

“And when you two started dating,” Saeran asked, “How long did it take for him to kiss you the first time?”

“Almost four months…” I remembered. The four…longest…months…of my life.

“Even though I’d rather suppress this,” he squeezed his eyes shut, “How long were you dating before you even gave sex a thought?”

“A year and a half,” I bit the inside of my cheek, thinking back to that night. I practically had to beg for it. But then, we found out it happened to be a kink, so we’ll call that one a win. That was well worth the wait. He told me I corrupted him. But he also had me up at three o'clock in the morning, waiting for his messages, so who really corrupted who?

“Does he have any other speed in this relationship other than glacial?”

“I know,” I grumbled into his arm, “But…I don’t know. I just kind of thought there’d be _something._ Instead of us pipe dreaming. Just this once, I’d like for this one particular pipe dream to come true.”

“I think you’re reading too much into this,” Saeran shrugged, “But what do I know?”

“Wait…” I know he wanted to get this done and over with as soon as humanly possible, but this seemed too cut and dry, “What _do_ you know?”

“And now, you’re being paranoid,” he shoved me off him, “I know as much as what you do. Maybe even more. Like how you’re being paranoid. Just give it time, MC. Do you know where Saeyoung is right now?”

“I think he’s on a job,” I remember him kissing me in bed this morning before he left, “But Vanderwood should be here sometime today.”

“Vanderwood’s coming?” Saeran thought it over for a moment or two, “Isn’t he supposed to be on Saeyoung’s ass, making sure he comes home in one piece?”

“Vanderwood’s not his babysitter,” I got up from Saeran’s bed, “That’s about the only thing Vanderwood doesn’t do for him.”

“The house is pretty pristine,” Saeran figured, “What is he really going to have to do?”

“I don’t know,” I decided, “Pour cocktails and listen to me complain about the pains in the ass I have to live with?”

“Hey!”

“I love you, too, Saeran,” I kissed his cheek, “You know I’m screwing with you.”

“Yeah,” Saeran grabbed his game, unpausing it, “I know.”

“Hey,” I offered, “You want anything while I’m up?”

“For you to shut the door on the way out.”

“Will do,” I left Saeran to get back to his game and headed into the kitchen. Although, I already heard some noises in there. Since Seven’s line of work isn’t always for the safest of people, I’ve learned to keep a little something, something on me. Just in case I needed to use it. However, this particular something, something was a gift from Saeran. He said that every girl living on her own should have a tactical knife. That was way before I moved in here, though.

Fortunately, I won’t have to use it. I put my tactical knife back in my pocket and walked into the kitchen, “Hi, Vanderwood.”

“Hello, MC,” Vanderwood smiled, “Always a pleasure. Did you need something?”

“I could use a drink.”

“Me, too.”

Saeran didn’t drink. Seven didn’t drink. Seven _shouldn’t_ drink. I’d be terrified to ever see him drunk. But I did. Far and few in between, but I did occasionally like a drink at the end of a long day. And there was no one in this world that I liked drinking with more than Vanderwood. He could mix a damn good cocktail. Although, when we drank together the first time and mixed us both an appletini, it caught me by surprise. Always had him pegged as a whiskey type. Nope. Apparently, the sweet, fruity drinks were what did it for him. 

“I’m thinking rum,” I picked, “What can you make me with rum? No soda. Not in the mood for soda.”

“Well…” Vanderwood checked the fridge, “You have wild cherry Caprisun.”

“That actually doesn’t sound too bad,” I allowed, “Hit me.”

“That does sound kind of good,” he cut open a pouch with the kitchen scissors (that we also don’t allow Seven to have. Long story. Ended up with a hospital trip. Don’t ask.) and dumped it into a glass of ice for me. Have I mentioned how much I adore this man? Because he’s the best. He gets me, “It’s too bad you don’t want any soda, MC. A little seltzer water would round this off nicely.”

“I need something flat tonight,” I shot him down, “You’re more than welcome to do what you wish to your own.”

“So,” Vanderwood slid my glass across the island, “What’s troubling you? You usually save the rum for when you’re in crisis.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m in crisis,” I giggled, taking a good, long sip from my glass. When I say Vanderwood knew how to mix a good drink, I meant he’s heavy handed. And I loved him for it, “I’m in a state of melancholy, though.”

“And why’s that?” he wondered.

“You’d say that Seven and I are pretty serious, right?” I played with the stir straw in my glass.

“This is the most serious I’ve ever seen him with a woman,” Vanderwood pointed out, “So…Yeah.”

“And I have the patience of a saint when it comes to him,” I argued, “Right?”

“Saints wish they had your kind of patience, MC,” he poured his seltzer, “What’s really eating you?”

“This is going to be our fifth anniversary, Vanderwood,” I groaned, “Why hasn’t Seven proposed yet?”

“Maybe he’s waiting for the right moment,” Vanderwood figured, “Does anyone know what goes on in Seven’s head?”

“Sometimes I wonder if Seven even knows what’s going on in his head,” I joked, “But if he’s waiting for the right moment, that moment will never come. And it’ll just be an excuse for him to never ask me. You don’t think he’s thinking about breaking up with me, do you?”

“Hell no,” he assured, “MC, I’m around Seven more than I’d care to admit and when he’s not talking about the job, nine times out of ten, he’s talking about you. And he doesn’t just talk about you. He _gushes_ about you. Sometimes at nauseum. Don’t get me wrong. I do like hearing about what you’re up to, but I don’t need to know how you poured milk into your cereal this morning or how you bit his ear to win at Mario Kart.”

“That was _one_ time.”

“That actually happened?” Vanderwood gasped, “I thought he was joking about that.”

“No,” I laughed a little, “I bit his earlobe as a distraction tactic. I was quite proud. But I did end up seducing the win out of that race, too.”

“You little minx…”

“I’m his little minx,” I finished my drink, “Maybe I am overreacting. It’ll happen when it happens.”

“That’s the spirit,” Vanderwood gave me a little pop to the shoulder, “You want me make you another one?”

“Maybe,” I thought it over. Dare I have another one? Let’s see…I’ve eaten twice today. Rather substantially both times. If I have to go anywhere, I can ask Saeran, “Why not? What’s the Caprisun supply look like?”

“It’s pretty good,” he got up and cracked open the fridge, “You do know if you drink all of it, Seven’s going to be pissed beyond belief, right?”

“I’ll get him another box,” I promised, “Besides, I owe him Gogurt anyway.”

“You ate all his Gogurt?” Vanderwood gave me a look, “You committed such a mortal sin?”

“I ate his last Gogurt,” I corrected him, “I didn’t know it was his last Gogurt.”

“Strawberry banana or cotton candy?” he wondered, “Because it matters.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, holding back my shame, “Cotton candy. And it was really good, too.”

“Ouch,” Vanderwood mixed me another drink, “Should I go get it now and save you the trip?”

“No,” I shook my head, “I like going to the grocery store. It’s one of life’s little pleasures. It’s even better when it’s Seven and me and it’s maybe an hour before the grocery store closes. That’s when we get all our snack food. The cashier usually thinks we’re stoned, but no. We’re ashamed. And our fat asses come home, sit on the couch, and proceed with our Saturday night before Saeran comes home.”

“That sounds like a hell of a time,” he sat down next to me, “Don’t worry about Seven proposing to you, MC. He just likes to take his time. You know that by now.”

“I know,” I grumbled into the countertop, “But it’d be nice if he even slightly hinted at it.”

“Maybe he already has,” Vanderwood shrugged, “You never know what’s going through that kid’s head. I’ve known him longer than you have and I still don’t know what’s going through his head nine times out of ten. You’re overthinking, MC. Maybe it’ll happen today. Maybe it’ll happen tomorrow. But there is one thing for absolutely certain. Seven’s going to propose to you one day.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” he gave me a little pop to the shoulder, “Because let’s be honest. Who else would put up with his ass the way you do?”

“Valid point,” I giggled a bit, “Thanks, Vanderwood. You were a bigger help than Saeran.”

“That doesn’t take much,” Vanderwood teased, “I don’t know if that one has an ounce of empathy in him.”

“He does,” I assured, “A little bit. He’s just particular about who he shows it to.”

“If you say so,” Vanderwood finished his drink, “Is there anything you need while I’m here?”

“The drinks and the crying shoulder were plenty,” I let him go, “But thank you.”

“Let me take care of the mess,” he got up, “And I’ll head out.”

“Ok,” I gave him my empty glass, “Hey, Vanderwood, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You wouldn’t know where Seven’s working today,” I wondered, “Would you?”

“Hell, if I know,” Vanderwood started the dishwater, “But if I had to fathom a guess, I’d say it’s V. When in doubt, Seven’s on a job for V.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” I agreed. At least I know he’ll be home tonight. That’s comforting. Working for V never put Seven out for long.

“Hey, Vanderweird!” Speak of the devil, “Is my special lady friend home?”

“Yeah, she is,” I couldn’t hold back a smile if I wanted to. 

“Welcome home, Seven,” Vanderwood continued diligently with his work, practically ignoring Seven. It’s likely the best for the sake of his mental health.

When Seven walked into the kitchen, we assumed the daily ritual. Immediately, I ran into his arms and latched my ankles around his waist, burying my face in his neck, “Hello, my darling MC. Did you really miss me that much?”

“Of course,” I kissed his cheek, “If it’s been an hour, it’s been an age.”

“Jesus Christ,” Vanderwood mumbled to himself, “There’s two of them.”

“Hey, MC!” Seven put me back down on the floor, “Guess what?”

“What?” I asked, sitting down at our kitchen table.

“I’m taking you out tonight,” he decided, “Just the two of us. Where would you want to go?”

“Wait a second,” I stopped him, “You never want to go out and do something. That’s why we spend our Saturday nights at the grocery store and then, immediately come home after that. What’s with the sudden change of heart?”

“What can I say?” Seven brushed me off, “I’m in the mood to go out tonight. Is that so terrible?”

“I’m not saying it’s terrible,” I clarified, “It’s just…a bit out of character for you, Seven. And I’m concerned.”

“You’re always concerned for me,” he kissed my cheek, “One of those reasons why I love you. But for realsies, MC, I’m good. Just want to go out with my lovely girlfriend.”

“Alright then,” I let it go, “Where are we going?”

“Wherever you’d like,” Seven allowed, “Nothing is off the table.”

“Alright then,” I thought it over, “Paris.”

“Sounds good to me,” he agreed, “Go on. Go pack.”

“I was joking, Seven,” I needed to push my eyes back into my head, “We’re not going to Paris.”

“Fine,” Seven pouted, “I was getting all geared up for a spontaneous trip to France. If we’re not going to France, you want to just go get dinner?”

“Yes please,” I have the feeling that if I wouldn’t have stepped in, we would’ve been on the next flight to Paris. Not that I’d complain. But that’s something that requires more planning.

“I don’t know about you,” he started walking toward our bedroom, “But I could definitely wreck a massive cheeseburger. Unless you were planning on somewhere that requires a blazer.”

“When have we ever gone somewhere that requires a blazer, Seven?” I wondered, “Because you get twitchy at fancy restaurants and I can’t stand the pretentiousness of the affair.”

“That’s my girl!”

“Last time I checked.” I walked into the bathroom and started getting ready.

“Does this mean,” Seven asked, “we can wear the same dress and no one has to change?”

“No, Seven.” This was the dork I fell in love with. I think I’m going to keep him.

“You’re right,” he threw himself on our bed, watching me in the mirror, “That’s still a faux pas, no matter the occasion. And I’d hate to embarrass us both in public.”

“We don’t have anything that matches,” I thought back, “Do we? Other than the family Christmas sweater?”

“I don’t think so,” Seven rolled onto his back, “And it’s a damn shame! We should have more matching clothing.”

“The Christmas sweater isn’t enough?”

“Nope,” he shook his head, “I don’t think so. I’m surprised we never got matching airbrushed t-shirts.”

“The night is young,” I reminded him, “Never say never.”

“Are we getting matching t-shirts?” Never in the almost five years we’ve been dating have I ever seen Seven’s eyes light up so much. Is it sad that it’s over matching airbrushed t-shirts? Of course not. It’s Seven and me. We wouldn’t have it any other way.

“We could,” I dug in the bathroom drawer for a hair tie. It’s a bit on the warm side outside and quite frankly, I don’t feel like doing much with my hair, “The night is young.”

“Yay!” Seven squeaked, “We’ll save that for after. There is one thing I plan on doing tonight.”

“What’s that, Seven?”

“I can’t tell you,” he joined me in the bathroom, his fingers lacing together at my waist, “Otherwise it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“You already told me you had a surprise for me,” I argued, “Doesn’t that already ruin the surprise?”

“I don’t think so…You’ll see.”

I never knew what to expect with Seven surprises. Sometimes, they were the spontaneous trips. Other times, it’s him surprising me with a goldfish (That was once. Then, unfortunately, Mildred had to take the water slide to Heaven a few days later. Seven’s heart couldn’t take it.). But this time around, I really didn’t know what to expect. I could see it being him screwing with my t-shirt. Because that’s just the way that little shit can be.

The two of us left Saeran to his devices and headed out on our great, grand quest for a massive cheeseburger that’s going to make Seven hate himself for it later. One of those cheeseburgers that will destroy someone from the inside. And honestly, I couldn’t blame him. Because what the hell? Why not indulge ourselves once in a while? When we first started dating, we got cheeseburgers like this, too. That was the night I introduced Seven to A-1 on a cheeseburger. There was nothing like it.

“You know what I just thought of?” I sat on the hood of Seven’s car, attractively stuffing my face.

“What’s that, my little angel?” Seven popped a french fry in his mouth.

“Wasn’t this how we spent our first date, too?”

“You know what?” he thought it over, “I think so.”

“I thought this was feeling familiar,” I shoved the last bit into my mouth, “It feels like an eternity since then.”

“Do you remember why we had our first date?” Seven asked.

“Of course I do,” I rolled my eyes, holding back a smile, “It was after our first RFA party. We came out to this spot and sat on the hood of your car because there were too many people. And because Jumin hired the caterers, everything was too high end for our tastes.”

“I just remember you telling me how much you’d kill someone for chicken nuggets.”

“We have the food palates of children.”

“Yes, we do,” Seven put an arm around me.

“Seven,” I giggled, cuddling into him, “I mixed Caprisun with rum today. If that’s not my adult palate and my child palate coming together in perfect harmony, I don’t know what is.”

“That seems right,” he jumped down from the hood, “Are you done? Because I want us to go get our t-shirts made.”

“Alright, alright,” I slid down, crinkling my wrappers together, “We can go get our t-shirts done. You seem weirdly enthusiastic about them.”

“Life’s not worth living if you’re not living with enthusiasm,” Seven chirped, “It’s better than the alternative.”

He had me there. It’s better than bitching and moaning around every turn. Seven and I got back in the car and took off for the one place we knew would have a t-shirt place. The mall had a good t-shirt place. Prices were reasonable. The color and design selection were nice. And the best part? We’d get to watch.

“Nope!” Seven covered my eyes, “You can’t see mine. Mine is going to be a surprise.”

“Come on, Seven,” I giggled, trying to fight him, but he was stronger than I was, “I just want to watch.”

“It won’t take long,” he promised, “Please? Of all the things I’ve ever wanted to be a surprise, this is the only one I’ll ever ask for ever again. Just a little patience. And that’s coming from me.”

“You are a horribly impatient creature, Seven,” I agreed, “Alright. I’ll keep my eyes closed. But can you take your hands off my face? I’d greatly appreciate it.”

“Fine,” Seven lowered his hands, but so help me God, MC, if you peek.”

“I won’t peek,” I stuck my pinky out, my eyes squeezed shut.

“Thank you,” I felt his lips on my cheek. And I couldn’t hold back a smile. What the hell could be such a big surprise? And it’s Seven, so I have a feeling that it’s going to be a total troll job. It’ll be like the sexy grandpa hat I got him for Christmas a couple years ago. Is that what this is? Is this vengeance for me calling him a sexy grandpa? I doubt it. Then again, I wouldn’t put it past him.

“Alright,” the guy behind the counter said, “It’s done.”

“Are you ready to see it, MC?” Seven put his hands back over my eyes.

“Yes,” I nodded, “I swear to God, Seven, if this is just an airbrushed penis, we’re going to have a problem.”

“No,” he swore, “No tricks.”

“Alright,” I waited for Seven to take his hands off my eyes and I looked at his t-shirt.

My heart dropped to the floor. In red, black, and yellow swirls, it said one question. That one question that I’ve been waiting for since we started dating. Was this real? I couldn’t even speak. When I turned around, there he was, down on the floor, a ruby in his hand and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think there were tears in those eyes.

“Well?” Seven asked, his voice shaking, “Will you?”

“Seven…” Tears welled up in my eyes. I dropped to his level, evening the playing field. I knew how nervous Seven got when someone else towered over him. It made him claustrophobic. And now is not the time to be making Seven nervous. He’s probably bad enough, “It’s about damn time you asked me.”

“Is that a yes?” he hoped, his nerves easing.

“Seven…” I threw myself into his chest and bawled my eyes out, “You did say you wanted us to have matching t-shirts, right?”

“Yeah…” Seven nodded, “I kind of need an answer, MC.”

“I hate to do this to you,” I bit the inside of my cheek, “But you’re going to have to wait to find out.”

“Aww!” Seven pouted, “Come on, MC! Look, I’m sorry for doing that to you, but you know me. I’m so damn impatient.”

“I know,” I held a little bit of sadistic joy in my heart. I wrote down my color choices and my answer and handed it to the guy. Soon enough, I had my shirt made. Where Seven’s was all reds and yellows and a little bit of black, mine was black, blue, and purple with little flecks of white all over the place with one simple request. If the actual thought of his proposal didn’t bring a tear to his eyes, this made him break down: Take me to the space station.


End file.
